2003-08-25 - 12:32 p.m.

I need a weekend to recover from my weekend. I�ve been in a daze all morning. Too much party, not enough sleep. I didn�t do most of the stuff I�d planned to do (attending big festivals and fairs and what have you) but I had a rip roarin� good time going to BBQ after BBQ and playing with friends in the hot hot heat.

Friday night seems like a lifetime ago. John, Brander, Erik, and I ate too much garlic and then went to a party, which is a good way to make friends. We were some of the only people there who didn�t go to Vassar and aren�t trying to be actors. As is our way, we closed the place down.

Saturday involved more drinking, this time while swimming: a winning combo! Scott and Jen hosted yet another summer BBQ/pool party. I�ve taken to referring to their house as Sandals. I consumed many fruity drinks while floating around on a giant raft discussing Scott and Jen�s upcoming jewelry venture. They�re skilled artisans, those two. And soon their fine creations will be available for all the boys and girls of America to adorn their�ahem, parts. Yes, parts. Fortunately, I maintained enough self-control to cut myself off, sober up, and drive up to the City of Angels to meet the ever-so-lovely Birthday Girl and her very cool, very nice friends at El Chengadera on Sunset. As always, Gingeryette was full of funny stories. I�m a fan.

Sunday involved seeing Whale Rider - the best movie I�ve seen in a dog year. I loved it. Speaking of dog years, Sunday also involved saying goodbye to my parents� dog, who had a stroke. I brought this dog home when I was 14, so - obviously - she was 100 years old. She�s gone to heaven now. Goodbye Paizeltron 2000. (Paizeltron 2000 was my affectionate nickname for her. It was a inside joke of ours.)

And speaking of New Zealand, last night Erik and I went to yet another BBQ, this one hosted by one of Erik�s old bandmates and his very sweet New Zealander wife. I met a bunch of intriguing people, most of whom were either a.) musicians, b.) employed by E!, and/or c.) writers. I felt boring, even though I sometimes consider myself a and c, but never b.

And another sad thing: I just found out the world will be a saner, less absurd place. Farewell, Wesley Willis. Many moons ago, my old band played a show with Mr. Willis at a sleazy place in San Francisco. He played first and refused to get off the stage. Just kept pressing buttons on that Casio, cussing at the crowd, cussing at the soundguy, cuss cuss cuss. Then he cussed and hollered throughout our set. Now that he�s gone, who will taunt the quiet indie rock bands? Who will write such special songs as "Merry Christmas"? I think I will write a requiem for Paizeltron 2000 in the style of Wesley Willis.

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